This is the last chapter I have set up and ready to go - still have to break the rest into chapters and clean them up - so posting may slow down a little bit.

BOSTON

(Part 2)

The clock chimed six. The candles were no longer crisp new tapers, but half-burned logs coated with dribbles of clinging wax. Mrs. Longworth had long since moved the dinner to the warming oven. Even the flowers seemed to lose their jaunty festiveness and droop. Abel sat and drummed his fingertips lightly on the tabletop, his forehead lowering in a furrowed frown. His cravat had started to unravel itself a good half hour ago. His temperament had not been far behind.

"Where the devil is that dratted boy?" he grumbled. His disappointment had moved to irritation and was even now turning to a strange, icy sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Mrs. Longworth folded and unfolded her hands. "Are you sure he didn't tell you he had to be somewhere? You have a very poor memory, Abel."

"You think I wouldn't remember - on his birthday?" his voice came out more sharply then he had intended.

What on earth could be keeping him? A hundred things could happen to a young man walking the streets of Boston. He could be robbed and beaten. Run over by one of those careless taxi drivers. Fall in the Charles and drown. Well - maybe not drown. Adam was a strong swimmer. But there were a hundred other things - at least a hundred. Imagine trying to explain to Ben that he had misplaced his son somewhere in Boston. That his son had suffered some terrible accident. The ice spread from his stomach to cover and clench at his heart. No. No, no, no…he would not lose another he loved - he would NOT! He pushed restlessly away from the table and stood to pace the end of the room. Perhaps he should be out looking for him, even now. No, no - you couldn't go looking for a boy - all right, a young man, really - even if it was his birthday - just because he was an hour late. He glanced at the clock. An hour and ten minutes late.

"He could have stopped at the library to study."

Abel glared at her. "He knows to come home for dinner. He's never not come home before without saying."

"Yes, well - it is his birthday. Maybe some of his friends wanted to buy him a drink to celebrate and he lost track of time."

Abel glared harder. That wasn't impossible. But he was supposed to celebrate with me, a tiny voice inside him complained. Eh, damn. Why hadn't he just told him - ? Why had he gotten this ridiculous idea into his head about a surprise? Adam was probably out there somewhere celebrating, thinking that his grandfather had forgotten his birthday all together. Damn, Abel, but you're a bloody fool…but at least if that's the case, he's all right. He's alive. At least until I get my hands on him for not telling me he'd be late, he is…oh, God, please let him be alive…his anxious eyes sought the clock again. An hour and twenty minutes.

At an hour and a half he'd go looking for him - no matter how foolish it made him look, no matter how angry it made Adam. He'd…there was the sound of a familiar footfall on the steps and he froze. He heard the soft opening and closing of the front door, as if someone wanted to avoid notice, then a light step in the entryway. The rush of relief nearly knocked Abel off of his feet. It was followed almost immediately by a rush of anger, just as strong. He was at the door to the entryway in four quick strides; yanked it open and stood, filling the doorway, just as Adam was putting his foot on the first stair.

"SO!" It was the voice he used to use at sea to be heard over the pounding of a storm. "So, young man! What is the meaning of this?"

Adam turned his head, surprised at his tone of voice. Abel couldn't make out his face in the dimly lit hallway, but his shoulders seemed to droop. "Sir?" he asked quietly.

Somehow that made Abel even angrier. How dare he seem so - normal - after - after - "I asked you what you mean coming in so late! Missing dinner - sending no word…"

Adam took his foot from the stairs and turned to face him. "Is it late?"

Abel had to stop himself from reaching out and shaking him. "You've a watch, haven't you? There are about a hundred bloody bell towers all over Boston, aren't there? You must know it's late! And Mrs. Longworth's dinner all spoiled - the least you can do is apologize to her."

Adam shifted on his feet, his face unreadable. He nodded slowly. "Of course. I will. When I see her in the morning."

"You'll do it now!"

Adam raised his head slowly. "She's still here?"

"Of course she's still here! What do you think? Now get in there and apologize like a man and then we'll have a talk about this lateness of yours! If there's one thing I won't stand for it's carelessness - carelessness and bad manners!"

Adam looked at him strangely, then nodded again, ducking past him to enter the main room. Abel followed close on his heels, his face a thundercloud. Adam stopped so abruptly that Abel actually bumped into him.

Adam's eyes moved slowly about the room, taking in the elegantly set table, the flowers, the pile of gifts sitting by one plate. "What - ?" His eyes returned to the gifts and fixed there. "Were you…?"

Abel moved around him and stood with his arms crossed. "Yes, a fine thing to miss your own birthday supper - and after Mrs. Longworth worked all day on it, too!"

Adam rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, his brows scrunched together in a frown. "My…?"

"You can't mean you forgot your own birthday!" Abel stared at him. Really - he was such a bright lad in every other way, too!

"Of course I knew it was my - I just thought…I'm sorry, Mrs. Longworth, I had no…" He broke off again.

"Never mind, Adam," Mrs. Longworth smiled warmly, her keen eyes on him. "Dinner's no worse for waiting - I'm warming it up right now. I'll bet you haven't had any." Adam shook his head mutely. She peered at him as if she had discovered something and gave Abel a meaningful look. "I'll just see to it while you gentlemen talk, then we'll eat. No harm done. Don't make it too long, though - you must be starved."

Adam watched her disappear into the kitchen, then returned his gaze to the table. He had the same expression on his face Abel had seen there when he'd miscalculated a math problem - the same puzzled, concentrated look as he went back through the steps, refiguring his logic and checking his calculations.

Abel cleared his throat to remind him he was there. "Well?" he repeated. Adam glanced at him. There was something odd about his eyes, Abel noted - they looked - wrong. Was he coming down with something?

"I'm sorry, Grandfather. I - wish you'd said something."

Abel puffed out his cheeks. "Well, you come home for dinner every night - what made tonight so different all of a sudden? And why didn't you send me word?"

Adam looked at him harder this time, as though he was part of the math problem he had misfigured. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His eyes moved back to the table.

"And for heaven's sake - haven't I sent you a gift for your birthday every year of your life? Did you think I'd forget it now that you're here?"

"No. I didn't think you'd forget."

Adam's voice sounded hollow and Abel tried to get a better glimpse of his face. "Well, then. Surely it stands to reason that we'd be celebrating in some way. Don't they celebrate your birthday on the Ponderosa?"

"Of course they do." Adam sounded cross, moving away from him to study the cluster of gifts wrapped in homespun by his plate.

"Then why on earth wouldn't we celebrate it here?" Adam didn't answer. He reached out to touch one of the gifts. Abel got a glimpse of the dirt ground in under his fingernails and smeared across his palms. He felt his temper rise again. "And what on earth have you been doing to get your hands in such a state?"

Adam jumped as if he'd struck him and glanced at his hands, folding his arms over his chest and tucking the offending appendages out of sight under them. He strode over to the back window and stared out, though there was very little to see.

"I am waiting for some kind of explanation from you, young man, and I don't expect you to deliver it with your back to me!"

Adam's shoulders grew more rigid, but he didn't turn around.

Abel seethed. "You have exactly five minutes to tell me what you were thinking to come in here so late without a single notice to me and what in the name of heaven you've been doing with yourself! I know you didn't go into the library to study and come out with hands like a gravedigger's!"

Something about his own words sounded loud in the room and Abel paused, hearing himself. Some of the jumbled pieces dropped into place and he let his hands fall to his sides. Oh, lad.

"Adam," his voice was much quieter this time and he watched the stiff back in front of him carefully. "Son. Is it that you thought – " he groped for the right words. "I - might not want to celebrate today?"

Adam's shoulders sank a little. "I thought," his voice was so soft that Abel could barely make it out, even in the quiet room. "I thought, maybe…you might not."

Abel took a step toward him and rested a hand lightly in the middle of his back. The back didn't soften, but didn't shrug him off either.

"I thought maybe…on a different day. When I was little, sometimes Pa…preferred…"

Abel's brows went up. So, Benjamin - you didn't always do everything perfectly either, hey? The thought brought him an odd comfort.

"I just assumed…you'd want…"

The back under his palm was as rigid as rock and he slid his hand up to cup the nape of Adam's neck.

Adam's head dropped. "I'm sorry. I should have asked."

"You've nothing to be sorry for." Abel sighed. He'd guided ships through some of the most treacherous, rocky and ice-filled shoals on the planet, but he had never been more daunted than he was by the channel he was trying to navigate now. "Adam, you're the only grandchild I'll ever have and twenty years ago on this day you were born - surely you can see that, for me, that's a big reason to celebrate?"

He felt Adam's neck muscles harden under his hand.

"That's not the only thing that happened twenty years ago on this day."

The harsh note in his voice nicked at Abel's heart and he sighed again, more deeply. "No," he admitted quietly. "No, it's not." He closed his eyes. Elizabeth, child, if ever I needed your help, it's now…he could see in his mind's eye, more clearly than he had for years, that day twenty years ago - Elizabeth, pale but beaming, an anxious Benjamin clutching her hand…he opened his eyes.

Elizabeth, beaming. How could he have forgotten?

He cleared his throat. "I'm going to tell you a secret, Adam, about today. Today twenty years ago was the proudest and happiest day of your mother's life. Now, you mustn't tell your father this - he thinks that was the day she married him. But that was the second happiest. Today - that was the first. She'd want us to celebrate. In fact, she'd take us to task and make no mistake if we didn't."

Adam glanced at him, then away. "She died," he pointed out coldly.

"Yes, well, she did, of course." Abel pressed his eyes tight shut again, trying to find the words for what he felt so clearly but wasn't quite sure how to explain. "And I'm not saying that, given the choice, she wouldn't have wanted to live to raise you - and to grow old by the man she loved. She wasn't a fool, after all. What I am saying is that, given the choice all over again about having you, even knowing how it would end - well, there would be no choice. For her, having you was - unmitigated joy."

Adam shifted slightly. "If she hadn't…she might have had…other children…"

"If you think that that would somehow have made up for not having you, then you would be wrong." He moved his arm to Adam's shoulders. The tension in Adam's back did not soften. "She was besotted - from the minute she saw you. Was almost all she could talk about that day. Father, do you like your grandson? Ben, have you seen your son? Isn't his face sweet? Like the cherubs on my music box. To tell the truth, she was in a fair way of becoming a bore on the subject." He was rewarded with a brief, watery chuckle. Abel smiled. "You were her crowning achievement, Adam. The crowning achievement of a happy life. A short one, to be sure - too short, but…

And now here you are, grown into a fine man. How proud she'd be. Reason for celebration indeed." The shoulders quivered suspiciously in his grip and he delicately averted his eyes and searched for another topic.

So, then. Your hands. You planted something for her?"

Adam's head jerked in a nod and he coughed to clear the fog from his voice. "Pansies," he said huskily. "For thoughts. I wanted rosemary, for remembrance, but…I don't actually…" he trailed off.

"No," agreed Abel, his heart twisting within him. "No, you don't. But I do - I remember her whole life. And I can tell you everything I remember. But you have to believe what I tell you then, Adam. She was my own daughter and I knew her well." He tried to catch Adam's evasive eyes and hold them. "You have to believe that, for Elizabeth, this was never a day of sorrow. For her, you were never the thing that ended her life, Adam. For her, you were the thing that completed it."

A tremor shook Adam's shoulders again and he quickly turned his face away. Abel stubbornly kept his grip and turned him back, drawing him carefully against his heart. Adam stiffened, then unexpectedly relaxed. His head dropped to his grandfather's shoulder and though he made no sound, Abel could feel the telltale heaving of his lungs beneath where his forearm rested.

He patted the back gently. "All right, then," he murmured. "All right…" His own heart was such a tangled mess of sadness and loss and joy and tenderness that he couldn't begin to name what he was feeling. He leaned his cheek against Adam's hair and thought about what an odd thing life was, love and sorrow and happiness so hopelessly intermingled; so fraught with surprises, both devastating and miraculous. He realized that Adam was actually holding onto him and he smiled, his own eyes welling. Really, if one didn't know what a pair of toughened, brusque and stubborn men they both were, one might almost get the idea that they were crying.

Dinner, of course, had been delayed. Mrs. Longworth had set it out the minute Adam had disappeared upstairs to wash his face and scrub his hands and compose himself. She seemed to know automatically when the time was right, the way she seemed to know everything - well, probably listening at the door, nosy old biddy. She had understood, of course, right away what Adam's dilemma was - the least she might have done was seen fit to inform him - hand signals or the like. But no, she seemed to enjoy watching him stumble through it on his own.

By the time Adam came back downstairs the chowder had resumed its savory aroma. He looked so pleased and touched and shy at the sight of the table that Abel felt some of his original buoyancy return. Adam gratified Mrs. Longworth by eating like a starving man and putting on her gift - a scarf knitted in crimson and grey, Harvard's colors - right away, complimenting her on its warmth, and kissing her impulsively on the cheek in thanks.

She had patiently rearranged the scarf around his neck, coloring slightly. "You're as bad as your grandfather with these things, I see. Leave it off and look at your other gifts now - you have plenty."

Adam paused to admire the scarf's fringe, but obediently pulled the string on one of the Ponderosa gifts. The cloth fell away to reveal a little carved horse, whittled out of a reddish wood.

"It's Sport," he said by way of explanation, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. "Hoss is getting good with a knife." He unfolded the note inside and, to Abel's delight, for the first time read it aloud. "Dear Adam - Happy Birthday. Sport sure misses you so I figured maybe you missed him too. This might kinda help you not miss him too much till you get home. I used red wood on accounta he's red. Love, Hoss. PS I sure miss you too." Adam ran a fingertip down the little carved mane.

"Looks like fine work." Abel was determined not to let him brood. "What's that other one?"

Adam put the horse aside with a pat and picked up the next gift. "From Joe, probably." He untied the string and pulled out a cowhide wallet, sewn up around the edges with rawhide. He turned it over and saw the initials "AC" burned, just a little crookedly, into one side. He opened the note.

"Dear Adam, I made this wallet for you all by myself cause Pa says every man needs a good wallet. It is made from one of our cows but I don't know which one. You can keep your money in it and other things. When you look at it, you can think of me and the Ponderosa. And Pa and Hoss too. Happy Birthday. Love, Joe. PS Hoss says to tell you that he helped me a little making the holes with the awl so you don't worry that I tried to do that by myself. PPS He says to tell you that he helped me some burning in the initials cause I'm not allowed to use hot things without supr (crossed out) suppra (crossed out again) somebody watching me. But all the rest I made myself. PPPS Hoss says I should tell you that I miss you but I told him that's stupid cause you know that, right? Hoss can sure be bossy when you're not around. Love again, Joe."

"Well," Abel took the wallet from him and eyed it solemnly. "You've a talented pair of brothers."

Adam's face was soft. "They're something all right."

"There's another gift there - from your father, I'm thinking."

Adam looked down in surprise, frowning. "I hope not. We agreed that being here would be my present."

"Yes, well, no doubt he misses you and felt better sending a gift. Open it, now."

Adam picked up the flat gift that had been hidden by the other two, eyeing it a little nervously and discreetly pocketing the attached note this time. After a second, he pulled the string and the wrappings and a lot of padding dropped off. "It's a daguerreotype," he said slowly after a minute. "We couldn't afford one before I left, so…" he tilted it toward the light.

"Well, let's see, then!" Abel plucked it casually out of his hand. They'd had enough rampant sentimentality for the evening - time to keep things sailing on an even keel now. "You don't mean that that's Benjamin? Lord, he was just a boy when I saw him last! Look at how grey he's gone! I suppose you contributed to that some, hey?" Adam grinned in spite of himself. "Not that I'm criticizing - by his age I'd barely any hair to speak of myself. And the big one must be Hoss? He is a big boy!"

"Really, Abel, you've no manners at all," Mrs. Longworth scolded lightly, leaning over his shoulder to see for herself. "And the little one must be Joseph. Isn't he sweet."

"Sweet," Abel gave a snort. "Anyone can tell he has the devil himself in him. Three of you give your father a run for his money, I'll wager. Well, what are you waiting for, lad? You've mine left - open them! Open them!"

Adam tentatively lifted the long, narrow wooden box with a ribbon tied around it. After a second he pulled the ribbon and pushed back the polished lid. It swung up on small hinges. Nestled in the dark blue velvet lining was a brass spyglass. He lifted it out, running his finger around the engraving that rimmed the glass. "Captain Abraham Abel Stoddard," he read aloud, "1765. Captain Morgan Abraham Stoddard. 1785. Captain Abel Morgan Stoddard - 1810. " He stopped, silent.

"Well?" Abel's voice boomed. "I know for a fact there's more."

Adam glanced up at him, then looked down again. He cleared his throat. "Adam Benjamin Stoddard Cartwright. 1850. "

Abel nodded in satisfaction. "My grandfather got that as a gift when he captained his first ship. Gave it to my father when he captained his first, and my father passed it on to me when I got mine. Thought it was time I passed it on to you."

Adam turned the cylinder in his hands. "But - I'm not a captain."

"No, well," Abel smiled. "Not precisely. But I thought you coming out here to college was the same sort of thing for you - a rite of passage. It's just an old thing, of course - "

"No, I love it." Adam ran a finger down the names, reading them again. "It's wonderful. I - don't know what to say."

"Yes, well - " Abel dusted his hands briskly. "You can say, thank you Grandfather and now I'll open my other gift."

"Another one?" Adam looked in surprise at the smaller gift pushed half under his plate. "Grandfather, I thought we agreed - "

"You know, laddie - " Abel interrupted with a twinkle, "Before you leave here I'm going to teach you to accept a gift graciously."

Adam flushed, gave him an abashed grin. "All right…" he picked up the gift and reached for the ribbon. "At least it's light…" The cloth wrapping peeled back to reveal a small portrait of three people - a young man in a captain's uniform, a young red-haired woman in a lace cap and an old fashioned, high-waisted dress, and a young girl with large, bright, long-lashed eyes. Adam was still and silent, looking.

Abel cleared his throat nervously. "Almost forgot I had that. Yer grandmother had it done years ago - so my daughter wouldn't forget what I looked like while I was away at sea, she said. It was done by one of those young artists she was always taking on and trying to help - yer grandmother had a terrible weakness for talent - almost couldn't recognize the bad in anyone who could paint or draw or make music…"

"Strays," said Adam absently.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

"It's just an old dusty thing, of course, but the likeness isn't bad - see there? Caught your grandmother's dimples, even. Well - " he clapped his hands together. "Mrs. Longworth has a cake and then we'll have a birthday toast. She wouldn't even let me break open the brandy until you got here, so I think I deserve two glasses for waiting." Abel rose briskly and collected the brandy decanter from the sideboard, pouring it carefully into three small, rounded glasses. "Let's see…" he lifted his glass just as Mrs. Longworth set the flower bedecked cake in the middle of the table and picked up her own glass. "To the birth of Adam Benjamin Stoddard Cartwright - twenty years ago today." He clinked with Mrs, Longworth.

"Wait - " Adam glanced back at the small portrait. "I'd also like to - toast - "

Abel followed his eyes and understood. His heart warmed within him. He had been wrong to wonder whether Adam's other mothers - the ones he knew - meant more to him than his own. Rosemary was for remembrance and memories were important - but they weren't stronger than thoughts. Elizabeth would always live in Adam's thoughts. "Very well, then. To Adam Benjamin Stoddard Cartwright and Elizabeth Margaret Stoddard Cartwright - and everything that happened - twenty years ago today."

Abel glanced at the two pictures - the muted daguerreotype and the small painting, keeping company side by side on the night table - and rested the back of his hand against Adam's parched cheek, his eyes soft with memory.

Odd. He had wanted so badly for Adam's birthday to be perfect and it had been - just not at all in the way he had planned. Life indeed was fraught with surprises, both devastating and miraculous. He wrung out the cloth once more and patted it gently against Adam's throat, then his cheeks.

"You know, laddie - I think you owe me a birthday celebration where you're actually on time. I think you need to hang on for that." He put down the cloth and loosened the dark curls where they clung across his forehead as the terrible dry heat changed once again to drenching sweats. "Besides - you have to see the new celebration I have in mind. And just wait until you see the surprise I have for you this year."

TBC